


Win/Lose

by jbin2018 (kahlojo)



Category: Jonas Brothers, nick jonas - Fandom
Genre: Consolation, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, golden globes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahlojo/pseuds/jbin2018
Summary: Nick Jonas lost the Golden Globe for Best Original Song, and there's only one thing that can make him feel better.





	Win/Lose

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I used to write Jonas Brothers fan fiction a LONG time ago on the JBST boards and JBFFA. I've recently joined AO3, and I feel like there's a huge dearth of good, solid Jonas smut (probably because we were all, like, 16 at the height of the band). This is part of my attempt to change that.
> 
> Enjoy?

“Fuck.”

“God, I thought I had this.”

“FUCK.”

The texts came rapidly and without explanation, filling the screen of my iPhone with context-less notification blocks, but I immediately knew what they meant: He’d lost.

I wasn’t watching the Golden Globes award ceremony — it wasn’t that I couldn’t take the suspense of knowing whether Nick would win Best Original Song for his _Ferdinand_ song “Home,” I just simply couldn’t get off work in time to go — but a quick Twitter search confirmed my suspicions. The trophy had gone to “This Is Me,” not my boyfriend.

Ignoring the waves of disappointment washing over me, I typed and sent a response.

“It’s okay, baby. You did your best. It doesn’t matter.”

He and I both knew it did. Nick needed a win, not so much for his career but for his self-confidence. Spending the holidays with the ever-expanding Jonas family had left him feeling particularly inadequate, what with Joe’s recent engagement and Kevin’s adorable girls. Sure, Nick could brag about the huge success of Jumanji and the buzz around his upcoming record, but it wasn’t enough. It never was for him.

Nick always pushed himself; when he decided he wanted something, he didn’t let up until he had it. That was the story of us, after all: When we’d met at the neighborhood coffee joint last March, he grabbing a cappuccino for his Uber ride and me nursing an Earl Grey while working on an article, I’d wanted nothing to do with him. I avoided his gaze, staying focused on my MacBook, and snapped when he walked over to talk to me. The next day, when I went to claim my normal chair, he was sitting there, waiting for me.

Fast-forward several months, and we were in bed when he found out he’d been nominated for the Globe. Like any good journalist, I got AP alerts to my phone, and I shook a snoozing Nick awake when the news came through. He filmed and posted a bewildered reaction video while our legs were still tangled together in the sheets.

I hated that I couldn’t be beside him tonight. While I pulled the night cops shift at the _Los Angeles Times_ , he donned a tux and took Joe to the Beverly Hilton.

My phone vibrated again, but it wasn’t Nick — it was Joe.

“He’s devastated,” the message read. Ellipses appeared, then another text came through: “OK well we’re gonna get drunk now bye.”

I checked the clock, shut down my computer and slipped out of the newsroom. 

**///**

Back at home in my one-bedroom apartment, I opened Instagram again to check for any updates from Nick — nothing. I hadn’t heard from either Jonas sibling for hours, and I was getting worried. I was running interference with his family and friends, trying to console Denise while talking PR strategy with Garbo, but I was growing increasingly concerned.

I’d just started my third glass of moscato when they busted in.

Joe, with his dress shirt untucked and Nick’s set of keys dangling from his index finger, lurched through my front door, his bleary-eyed brother behind him.

“Hellooo, Nat, we are here!” Joe proclaimed loudly, maneuvering Nick toward my living-room couch. “The loser has arrived.”

“Don’t call me that, dick,” Nick argued back, rolling his eyes as he stumbled into my home. He sobered when he saw me, standing there wrapped in a lavender robe with my dark brown hair down. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said softly. “Joe, I’ve got it from here.”

The other brother dropped my keys on the counter, pantomimed dusting his hands and swept me into a goodbye hug. Joe whispered an update in my ear before releasing me — “he’s still real upset, I don’t know what to do” — and making a swift exit.

When I turned around from locking the door, I spotted Nick on the sofa with his head in his hands. The apartment was nearly silent as I padded over to sit next to him. Sliding my palm back and forth across his upper back, I started my prepared speech.

“Nick, you know this doesn’t mean anything,” I began. “You’re a goddamn millionaire, for Pete’s sake, and you wouldn’t have gotten that way without being ridiculously tal-”

He cut me off. “Look, Natalie, I know. I’m super fucking privileged. I swear I’m not trying to be a spoiled asshole. I just thought I had this and I didn’t.” He paused, looking into my eyes. “I wanted confirmation that I’m on the right track. I wanted to feel like I’m good,” he added quietly. “I just wanted to really fucking feel it.”

So he wasn’t drunk, just sad. That I could fix.

I shifted my body on the couch, pushing him back and throwing my leg over his waist so I was straddling him. I could feel the cool fabric of his tuxedo pants on my thighs and through my thin panties. Nick’s eyes widened as I took his head in my hands. 

“I mean, I know one thing you’re pretty damn good at,” I whispered.

The line may have been straight out of a cheap porn video, but it sure as hell worked. Nick pressed his soft lips to mine, sighing as they made contact. He tasted like bourbon and tobacco when I let his tongue into my mouth, his left hand slipping underneath my robe to grasp my hip as his right moved to cup my breast. Within seconds, I felt him harden underneath me.

I began to move my hips back and forth ever so gently, pushing against his growing erection as his firm lips consumed mine. His skin was flushed. Nick was desperate.

He dragged his mouth downward, licking a trail down my neck and chest as I shook my robe off my shoulders. While one hand squeezed one breast, he brought his lips down on the other, taking my left nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it in small, delicious circles. I moaned softly, closing my eyes briefly, and I felt him smile against my skin.

“How ‘bout _those_ golden globes,” I joked breathily.

He snorted, but that was all it took. In a flash, I was on my back on the sofa, lying with Nick over me. He quickly untied what was left of my robe and pulled off his own shirt, remaining only in his dark pants. He leaned down and pushed his mouth against mine again, his fingers traveling down my torso and dipping below my panties.

He began to rub my clit deliberately — not too fast, not too slow, just how he knew I liked it. I pulled him closer to me, if that was even possible, and he got the message, plunging two fingers inside my wet heat with no additional warm-up. I turned my head to gasp his name, and he removed them to keep up a steady assault on my clit.

“Wet for me,” he said huskily in my ear, too aroused to string together a full sentence. I was unable to focus on anything but the feel of his fingers on me and the brown freckles decorating his collarbone.

“No,” I responded instantly. “Ready for you.”

Nick groaned, and he stood to unbuckle his pants as I reached into the pocket of my now-discarded robe for a condom. He pushed his slacks and boxers down, freeing his cock, which even I could see from my sofa vantage point was already leaking precum.

He took the condom from my hand and rolled it down his member, sheathing it as I settled in place. 

“Come here,” I begged.

Nick was on me and in me simultaneously. It burned like it always did, just for a moment, but he didn’t wait to begin. With one muscular arm bracing himself on the couch, he pounded his cock into me, filling me over and over again with his member. I reached down to touch myself, but he recognized what I was doing and swatted my hands away, rolling his own fingertips over my sensitive clit.

It may have seemed like a rough fuck, but it wasn’t — it was lovemaking. I knew Nick needed this, needed me. With every movement he distanced himself from the night’s loss, left behind his sense of failure. He was getting better right in front of me — I could hear it in his repetitive grunts, feel it in the way he nipped at my earlobes.

“Nat,” he breathed after a minute. “I know it’s fast, but I’m close.”

The pleasure built in my belly, pooling as he moved his fingers ever so slightly faster on my clit nearly in time with his thrusting cock. I nodded, pulling his forehead to mine and looking into his dark pupils as we moved as one. 

“It’s OK,” I whimpered. “Let go.”

He did, slamming his cock into my pussy and crying out as he emptied himself. I lost control, too, giving myself over to the sensation of him filling me, feeling me, on a physical and somehow also deeply emotional level. We shuddered together, and he buried his head in my shoulder as our bodies slowed. He pulled out and gathered me in his arms, still there on the couch, his carefully selected Golden Globes outfit in a pile on my Ikea rug.

We stayed in the embrace for a few minutes as our breathing slowed, then I rolled off the sofa and went to use the restroom. When I came back, Nick was still stretched out naked on the couch, his eyes closed, his hands folded behind his head and a faint smile on his face.

He wasn’t the boy who’d walked into my apartment sullenly earlier that night. He was content. I stood there for a moment, drinking in his lanky body, when he opened his eyes and caught me staring. 

“Well?” I asked, retrieving my robe and tying it around me once again. “Feel like you’re good?”

“Yeah,” he grinned lazily, then delivered a sincere-but-still-cheesy quip. “I’m a winner when I’m with you.”


End file.
